Here in the deep south, live oak trees are iconic. This root is old and has emerged over time from the ground. I took notice of its unique design. As no two humans are exactly the same, I imagine trees have their own personalities, too.
I started the year 2024 with writing daily elfchen. For this Advent season, I’ve picked up the form again. Here are the rules:
Grounded Roots revealed Begging us hear The true language of Connection Margaret Simon, draft
Join me today in writing to this photo prompt. Come back to offer encouragement to other writers.
As we end our vacation in Portland, Maine, we found the best place to eat lobster, Luke’s. Outside the restaurant on a peer overlooking the Old Port Harbor, there was a young boy putting finishing touches on the huge stack of lobster traps turned Christmas tree.
As we head back home to Louisiana for big family Thanksgiving, we are grateful for this time to relax and enjoy a different place in the world.
I invite you to leave a small poem of gratitude today.
I noticed this mushroom in the grass and how in its disintegrating process, it looked like a butterfly, but on closer examination, there is a small worm crawling that camouflaged as the butterfly’s body. Our eyes play tricks on us all the time. Think about what you see and contrast that to what’s not actually there that you may imagine you see. Share a small poem in the comments.
Filaments of brown turn mushroom inside out peaceful inclusion
I’ve been raising Gulf Fritillaries in a butterfly enclosure. One day this week we came into the classroom to find one butterfly and within minutes, like magic, there were three. Unlike monarchs, these seem to just pop out in seconds. We haven’t witness the emerging yet.
I am participating in Mary Lee Hahn’s #haikuforhealing on Instagram. This is a way to put beauty out into the world. Join me and my students today writing about the miracles of nature.
Open your wings Flutter in sacred silence Then let go and fly
Prayer candles in St. James Episcopal Church, 2024 by Margaret Simon
I was in my childhood home church on Sunday. While the scent of incense lingered, I walked over to the columbarium to say hello to my dad. I saw the metal rack of votive candles. I decided to light a candle for my mother, in hospice care at the end stages of Alzheimer’s, and one for my daughter’s mother-in-law who is battling cancer. To light a candle for someone symbolizes the prayer intention. Do we need this symbols? I believe we can pray without them, of course, but something in me was comforted by the act of lighting.
I invite you to consider holy moments, whether they be in church or out in nature, perhaps even in the quiet of your day. We can set intentions and practice mindfulness. What are your intentions today? Write a small poem in the comments and encourage others who write with us.
Instead of empty… fill Instead of fallow… fertile Instead of loss… love Instead of lies… truth Instead of hopelessness… faith
These past two weeks I’ve been trying to squeeze in Write Out opportunities for my students. Write Out is an annual event sponsored by the National Writing Project and the National Parks. This year Kate Messner was the Author Ambassador. One of her prompts asked students to take a hula hoop outside and focus on their circle when writing. Because I can’t leave well enough alone, I added paint chips and jewel loupes to the writer’s toolbox.
Our weather has been perfect the last two weeks. Cool mornings. High sun. Warm afternoons. Perfect for writing outside.
The paint chip words were just the thing to add a little twist to the poems my students and I wrote.
Purple flowers are community of the grass, some clustered some isolated in the sea glass waves.
by Adelyn, 6th grade
The grass has a shine from the blazing sun spitting out embers like a swarm of yellow jackets.
by James, 4th grade
Looking through the jewel loupes helped us see intricate designs and stretched our metaphorical thinking. I love using the jewel loupe with my camera lens on my phone.
Circle of Grass The blades of grass are a kaleidoscope reflecting after the fire in a tangerine dream. by Margaret Simon, draft
If you have a tree covered in moss, then you must hang a ghost there.
I’ve taken a number of pictures of Halloween decorations thinking about the photo for this week. This one is the winner. In my neck of the woods (South Louisiana), moss covered trees are common. My husband grew up calling it “spooky moss”. It is the common Spanish moss, and on some trees, the stuff practically takes over the tree, even though I’ve read that moss is a bromeliad in the pineapple family and does not harm the tree.
“Many homeowners think that Spanish moss kills their trees. This is not the case because the moss is not parasitic. The only thing Spanish moss uses trees for is support.” University of Florida.
Yesterday as we were writing metaphors for artifacts in nature (#WriteOut), Avalyn created this form: The (A, An) object in nature is/is like … describe how it is like end with a connection to life
I tried the form when writing about milkweed seeds. I combined it with a prompt from Ethical ELA to write with words from paint chips here.
A milkweed seed is a great white egret showing off its lacy wings to the mirrored pool in the sky. Margaret Simon, draft
Spanish moss are stalactites hanging on a crepe myrtle hosting ghostly terrormites. Margaret Simon, draft
Now it’s your turn. You can try Avalyn’s form or use your own. Please encourage other writers with your responses. Happy Halloween!
Recently I’ve had three different friends travel to Scotland. I think it’s a sign that I am meant to travel there. And, of course “Outlander” on Netflix is my current binge obsession. Mary Lee has been posting daily albums on Facebook of her travels. I chose this one, but they are all amazing. Can’t you just hear the bagpipes and feel the cool breeze?
Let’s travel today in our poems. Where would you like to go? Maybe a stay-cation is all you need. Close your eyes and dream. Please leave a poem in the comments and respond to other writers.
Mary Lee is writing daily cherita poems of one line, two lines, three lines that tell a complete story. So I chose the cherita form.
Scotland calls me
to hear the wind roar across the sea
and be a traveler wondering isle to isle seeking Skye.
Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
This is Just to Say
I have forgotten the words to that song you sang to me
and which you are probably humming in your head while you sleep.
Forgive me: I will sing along with you anyway.
Margaret Simon, after William Carlos Williams
I believe in daily poetry, but I fell off the Stanford Challenge for writing a poem a day. Lately the new book from Sarah Donovan, Mo Daley, and Maureen Young Ingram, 90 Ways of Community is helping. Each day I present one of the prompts to my students and write alongside them. They are responding so well to this daily practice. I hope you don’t mind if I share a few here. First up is a skinny poem by Grayson.
White void endless space just waiting wondering no thoughts waiting, I’m tired of waiting in this endless void, white space that is just too empty.
by Grayson, 5th grade
We’ve explored ourselves and written I am From poems.
I am from crunching leaves and windy days.
I am from books, and books, and even more books.
I am from the Bayou, and I am from the trees. I come from murky waters and lush green leaves and sturdy branches.
I am from the scratching of a pen, and the flick of a brush.
I am from the smell of cigarette smoke and an autumn evening.
I am from a household, a household holding four. A mother of books, a father of autumn, a daughter of both, and a sister of all.
by Adelyn, 6th grade
Each week I invite my students to write to a photograph. They are free to choose their own form even as I model a form for them.
Old tree Stays in the backyard Is surrounded by water and ferns Waiting outside on the porch for the sunrise Lovely morning
by Marifaye, 5th grade
If you would like to write a poem to a photo, please join me on this blog on Wednesdays: This Photo Wants to be a Poem. I wish for you daily poetry.
Bayou morning with rope swing, photo by Margaret Simon
I’ve been working through the new book 90 Ways of Community by Sarah Donovan, Mo Daley, and Maureen Young Ingram of Ethical ELA. Daily I’ve been reading a prompt to my students and writing alongside them. Today’s prompt comes from Linda Mitchell. Her original prompt suggests to find a list of words in our notebooks to write along to. Her sample poem is “Wishing Well Price List” which led me to think of the song from the musical Oliver, Who Will Buy?.
I took this photo at sunrise on Sunday morning. Hanging from our grandmother oak is a rope swing. I began to imagine how many people over the years have swung on that rope. My grandchildren don’t have the strength yet in their toddler bodies to hold on, but they love swinging the rope and running to keep it from hitting them, a game they made up.
This photo may take you on a journey to another place in your memory. Let it go and write a small poem in the comments. Respond to others with encouraging words.
Who will buy this sunglow on water?
Who will buy the fallsteam rising?
Who will buy a twist of rope to swing on?
Who will buy this changing of seasons? I find a reason to keep my spirits high wondering who will buy.
Margaret Simon lives on the Bayou Teche in New Iberia, Louisiana. She is a retired elementary gifted teacher who writes poetry and children's books. Welcome to a space of peace, poetry, and personal reflection. Walk in kindness.
Reflections on the Teche 